


new dog, old tricks

by jadedpearl



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, I tagged it as a relationship but really its just introspective ramblings as usUAL, M/M, coffee metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 16:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedpearl/pseuds/jadedpearl
Summary: Kepler was like that. Watch your step, notice the signs. Be careful, careful. Take a risk and hope it pays off. Jacobi is probably attracted to things just a little too dangerous for him to go near, to touch. Kepler was too dangerous by a mile, and Jacobi risked burning up in his atmosphere every time, but he still liked it that way.





	new dog, old tricks

Jacobi can never forgive Minkowski, but hey–there’s coffee on the Urania, and she’s the only one who gets up early enough to drink it with him. Some things you can’t forget, but coffee–real, fresh, coffee–can ease most things when it’s five in the morning. 

Jacobi wasn’t a morning person until he started at Goddard. He used to have 9 to 5 days and weekends. He’s always been a night owl, but now he’s just awake more. Caffeine pills, ice water, even nicotine patches–they used them near constantly to work their eighteen hour days. His sleep schedule is another ticking time bomb of a present that Kepler left him, and like the rest of them, it’s one he’d love to shake but can’t quite seem to manage it. 

So it’s early mornings, the whole way home, even if morning is more of a concept than anything. It was technically always day time on the Hephaestus, or at least the half facing the star. Their space station turned into a planet all on it’s own, with days and weather. If it was day on one side of the station, then it stood to reason that the other half was night.If you stood right in the middle, you’d be in “sunset”. A little on-board humor that didn’t ease the fact that he hasn’t experienced a real night, with the Earth moon and Earth stars in so long that it feels more like a dream than anything. 

There was one night on a mission where Kepler–

Anyway. 

Daniel Jacobi will never forgive Renee Minkowski, and all that, but he’s long since grown accustomed to putting things aside to reach a goal. He’s worked with her before. He wishes he could say that when they get back to earth, he’ll leave without a look back–and he might, he just might–but he’s on a ship full of idiots who are the only ones who went through what he went through. Would it be better or worse to be alone, to leave it all behind? To pretend it didn’t happen? 

He thinks that he’d probably just end up drinking himself to death in a bar until another attractive, broad, morally gray recruitment officer for an equally large, sinister corporation scooped him up into a decade long whirlwind before leaving him all alone with too much baggage and enough of a checking account to pay for a good therapist. 

_Adequate compensation_ , Kepler would probably say, with a shrug of his shoulders and sweeping expanse of his hands.   
(He was right a lot of the time, but he’d be wrong about that.)

But that’s earth stuff. Far off. Light years away. What’s important, in the here and now, is that they have a french press (a _french press!_ ). Sometime in between the Sol’s arrival and now, new supplies were loaded onto the Urania–which means no more sludge. No more synthesized, seaweed, bullshit, _sludge._ Or even the tinned, watery stuff the Urania used to have. Kepler didn’t care much about the quality of uppers–just whisky and the occasional cigar. Jacobi hasn’t had coffee in so long that the caffeine almost makes him light headed. He had some their first day on board. The crash that followed knocked him out for fourteen hours. He had woken up crying. 

He doesn’t do that anymore. Most days, he scrubs the sleep out of his eyes, changes into the same navy jumpsuit that he’s worn for years, and heads into the mess–or what could be called the mess. Really, it’s a state of the art kitchen stocked with a lot of mix to make chai lattes. He used to like those, he really did. 

The stainless steel makes them look dingy. His Goddard Futuristics patch is a little discolored, the yellow of it faded into ocher. The American flag patch on his arm half torn off. His SI-5 patch worn. He still puts it on, though, and Minkowski puts hers on too. Whether they’d like to or not, the simple fact is that they don’t have anything else on board. Only some dress shirts that Jacobi vents into space the first day. Night. Whatever. He had watched them drift behind them, back-lit from the star. He didn’t let himself linger on them, but he wanted to. 

And they don’t really talk. There’s not much to say. But modern technology really is amazing, because there’s four different kinds of milk on board, including oat milk, which is great because Jacobi can’t have lactose, regardless of his location in the universe, and Minkowski prefers half and half, so–it works out. 

The first sip is still almost a shock. Little luxuries like this seem hard to accept. He started off drinking it black, but he’s working his way back up to milk and sugar, the way he liked it back home–Earth–whatever–because he thinks that maybe he deserves it. Even now, it’s not sweet to his normal tastes, but what even is normal, anymore? He didn’t think he’d be up here this long. He’s done some reading, about the way that 0g affects the human body. Wonders if his eyesight is any worse. Wonders if he’s taller, but there aren’t any tape measures on the Urania. 

The second sip is easier. It always is. Jacobi prefers his coffee too hot to drink, at first. He’s particular about that. The first sip should almost burn you. The second one should be cautious. 

Kepler was like that. Watch your step, notice the signs. Be careful, careful. Take a risk and hope it pays off. Jacobi is probably attracted to things just a little too dangerous for him to go near, to touch. Kepler was too dangerous by a mile, and Jacobi risked burning up in his atmosphere every time, but he still liked it that way. Most of the times he got burned, but occasionally, he’d be allowed to take that second step, that second, cautious sip. 

The rest of the coffee is how it always is. It cools almost too quickly, taking the intensity with it. Minkowski taps her finger on the table as she finishes her cup, and then she takes it to the sink. The living spaces of the Urania are on a rotating wheel, the centrifugal force lending them some gravity. Jacobi can sit, pour a drink in a cup, feel the weight of himself. It’s almost unbearable; it’s too real to resist.

The truth is that he’s afraid to return to Earth. He’s afraid of Earth gravity. He’s afraid of how heavy everything is. He’s afraid that he’s been able to hold himself together these past few weeks because he hasn’t had to hold himself up, and once he gets to Earth he won’t be able to do that. He used to be able to lean against Maxwell, and Kepler, even, prop himself between them to maintain the illusion that he was standing on his own. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he was standing on his own feet. He can’t remember the last time he wanted to. He thought that he had everything, thought it could never be taken away from him. And then it just–was. 

Jacobi’s thoughts turn to Warren Kepler, almost every time, like a broken compass–or a not-broken compass, depending on how you look at it. 

Warren, he never got to say, corners of hotel sheets loose against another early morning. Warren, he never got to say, hollow arms and empty promises around him. Warren, he never got to say, pinning him down, stopping him like a clock. 

He never got any of this. And he knew he never would but he sure as hell isn’t going to now. 

_What can we learn from this, Mr.Jacobi?_ Kepler would say in a slow drawl, holding Jacobi’s gaze for just a beat too long. He had Jacobi on a wire, made him dance and jump. And Jacobi hated it, _liked_ it. It never felt like it was going to go anywhere, but that was ok. It was fine to play along in the realm of almosts and half starts. Kepler existed in that gray space, and any relationship with him–professional, romantic, friendship, whatever–had to exist there too. Kepler only did things on his terms, even in the end. Jacobi almost hates him for it, even now. 

But it’s hard to hate Kepler without hating himself. It’s hard to understand him—near impossible—and harder still to shrug him off like an ill fitting coat, to pretend to ignore that understanding Kepler was only hard because maybe, just maybe, Jacobi is afraid of how easy it was. And how much it made Kepler like him. Himself like Kepler. 

Because—here’s the thing. Jacobi understands revenge. And spite. And—this one is newer than the former two, a learned practice—loyalty. 

(The latter makes it so hard, after her death. He thought it was the only good thing he knew—and instead it ruined him.) 

But Warren Kepler operates on none of these things. So as far as motivation, no, Jacobi doesn’t understand. 

But compartmentalization? Sure, he understands. It’s the only way to survive.

So how is he supposed to pretend that he’s different when he can’t bring himself to change the choices he made in the highlight reel of his brain? How is he supposed to pretend that he’s the same, when it hurts too much to think about? There’s like, ten years of residual trauma rattling around in his head. How is he supposed to know how to fix that? 

Daniel can never forgive Renee, but he learned a long time ago that you can work with people you can’t forgive. You can want people you can’t forgive. You can even love people you can’t forgive. It makes it harder, but humanity is complex like that, complex in ways that he can’t even begin to understand, much less explain. 

Alana would have been able to, he thinks. Its what’s funny–what’s so not funny–about this situation. She would know just what to say about his relationship with Minkowski. She would tuck her hair behind her ear and she’d be smart enough for the both of them. 

He misses her more than he knows what to do with. He misses her so much he can’t breathe. They would say that they were monsters, but he was a real one. He was the monster so that she wouldn’t have to be. She gazed at what they did unflinchingly like the rest of them, but her work was above them.

Sometimes he wishes that life wasn’t so damn hell bent on proving him right about everything. He thought that letting people in would be too dangerous, that they’d only get hurt because of him. He had the best years of his life with Kepler and Maxwell, and now they’re both dead. If he had known what this mission would bring–how long he would have to be on this rust bucket, what it would take from him–he would have–

Would have gone anyway, because Kepler would have told him to. Kepler said jump, he said how high, sir, and they moved on from there. 

Jacobi thinks he might retire, but knows that it’s inevitable that he’ll return back to work. He’s good at what he does, and despite everything, it makes him happy. There’s a certain joy in blowing things up, but he likes disarming things even better. He likes being capable. He likes being good at what he does most of all. 

He’d just like to not call anyone “sir” for a while. 

So for now, he’ll finish his coffee. And he’ll try not to think about who he’s here with: the woman who killed the person he loved more than anyone; an AI that he can’t even talk to because she makes him think of her;a man who can’t even remember what he’s lost; the woman who is responsible for everything but can’t even remember enough to stand trial. There’s no justice on this ship, because Jacobi is still alive. 

He hates it, but Minkowski is the only one he can grieve with. Even if grieving is quiet and introspective. Even if they don’t talk to each other. But even she has someone to go home to. Jacobi has no one. 

_What have we learned?_

Nothing, probably. He’d do it again. He loved them both. He doesn’t know if he regrets it. He doesn’t have any answers. 

He’s built from the ground up before, but this scorched deep. He’ll have to start from below the bottom. He pretty much stopped drinking after he started working at Goddard–a side effect of being drunk for two years straight. He doesn’t plan on starting again soon, but–

He really needs a drink. 

He’ll stick with coffee for now. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Raise your hand if you enjoy *looks at hand* doomed relationships that can't possibly go anywhere! 
> 
> I'm on my re-listen of Wolf 359 but have only listened to the finale once, a year and a half ago so if there are any major details that are wrong...sorry....I did some research to try and fill the gaps in my memory but some things may have slipped through the cracks. 
> 
> Anyway this was really fun to write. I'd been sitting on a snippet for a while but had some free time yesterday and finally turned it into a real thing. Let me know what you think!


End file.
